Being an Asexual Episcopal Priest

Being an Asexual Priest

For all of my career as a Priest in the Episcopal Church, I was a strange anomaly in the Church: I have been a celibate priest.

            Celibate priests have a long and vital place in the Church. Many of my personal heroes in the Church were these single priests—both female and male. Most of my heroes were Episcopal or Anglican priests (many of them from the Anglo-Catholic tradition)  who lived lives of selfless devotion to God and the Church, who passionately followed Jesus, who prayed  faithfully, who celebrated the Eucharist with deep devotion, who cared passionately for those in their care, and who did so as single priests in the Anglican or Episcopal churches. These were the priests I related to from the very beginning. In fact, as I explain on a regular basis, one of the reasons I was so enamored with being a priest when I was first called at age 13 was the fact that I believed priests did not marry and remained single for life. I looked longingly to these priests as examples, especially in those moments in pastoral ministries when I wasn’t certain how to proceed. I also took comfort in the fact that I was not alone in my singleness. Others had also walked this same path I walked. And I felt somewhat justified in my celibacy by these brave priests who gave up everything “for God.”

          Now, before I go on, I should be somewhat transparent about who I am as a Christian: I am also a life-long, committed good, old-fashioned liberal. I have never shied away from that term. In fact, I have fully embraced it and held it dear to who I am. My being a liberal Christian means that I believe in the full-inclusion of all people in the Church, no matter who they are, regardless of sex or sexuality or race or whatever. Certainly, this is the core I what I have strived to do as a Christian all of my adult life, and certainly throughout my entire career as a priest. As I say again and again to the chagrin sometimes of my parishioners: Love. God. Love others. It’s really just that simple. But, of course, it also really isn't that easy either. 

          That, for me, is the true core of everything I believe as a Christian. And it is from this that all my beliefs stem. More importantly, my faith in a God of all-embracing, all-encompassing love sustains me. It renews and rejuvenates me. It motivates me to be a better person in this world. It gives me a much needed structure in my life since I am, by nature, oftentimes a lazy person. And, in those moments of doubt or frustration, my faith keeps me buoyed when I can no longer “swim” the waters of life.  

Even with these belief and practices as the foundation of my faith life, I am still a solid and proud liberal. In fact it is my identity as a liberal  Anglican/Episcopalian that compels me again and again to fight hard for the full-inclusion of all people in the life of the Church and the world. I truly believe, in my core of cores, that in the God’s Kingdom, there is no discrimination. And it is that Kingdom which I work hard to make a reality in this world.

          Still, among my liberal/progressive friends, I was always a kind of anomaly. On one level, yes, I fully support the full-inclusion of all people in the Church. Yes, I have married same-sex couples and spoke out and fought hard so that all people could participate in ALL the sacraments. Yes, I have questioned and debated Church laws and what I consider bad or even toxic theology in the Church. Yes, I have a deep respect for other religions, as well as atheism. Yes, I believe in science. Yes, I fight for peace and social justice. Yes, truly do work hard to respect the worth and dignity of every human being.

Still, I was an odd duck. I am also this strange somewhat High Church Episcopal celibate priest. And I am proudly and gladly so. As LGBTQA+ people were fully welcomed into the Episcopal Church, many of my previously celibate queer clergy friends were finding partners and getting married. I however remained single and celibate.

          Only as time went by—only within the last few years in fact—did I finally realize that calling myself “celibate” might not be a completely correct way to describe my single state. Celibacy, I realized, was a choice one made in one’s life, a committed decision to remain single and not engage in sex. For many of my celibate fellow-clergy, celibacy was often a heavy burden for them, something under which they struggled.

          However, for me, the struggle was simply not there. “Celibacy,” as I previously understood it, certainly held no burden. It was natural. It was comfortable. It felt so very right. I didn’t have the temptations for companionship and sexual intimacy some of my celibate clergy friends had. Not even remotely.

          And so, when asked by friends why I still remained celibate when I could certainly date and get married, especially now that all the restrictions for doing so were gone for all people in the Episcopal Church, I found myself having to look closer at my life as a celibate. And is then, after perusing the internet, after reading too many online articles and forums and commentaries, and reading books that were sometimes more clinical than I cared for, I came to hard realization: I am not celibate after all; I am asexual.

          Asexual.

According to the Asexuality Visibility and Education Network (or AVEN), asexuality is defined as such:

 “An asexual person does not experience sexual attraction – they are not drawn to people sexually and do not desire to act upon attraction to others in a sexual way. Unlike celibacy, which is a choice to abstain from sexual activity, asexuality is an intrinsic part of who we are, just like other sexual orientations. Asexuality does not make our lives any worse or better; we just face a different set of needs and challenges than most sexual people do.”

 

                             (https://www.asexuality.org/?q=overview.html)

 

          As simple as that definition might sound, it took a while for to grasp what exactly asexuality was. But once I did, I realized that this was definitely my orientation. This was who I was, and what I was. And it felt good. It felt very much like putting on a comfortable sweater that fits just right.

          As I look around me, both in my personal life and in my place in the church, I do not know or see many Ace people, and certainly almost no asexual Episcopal priests.

          Still, I can’t help but wonder if some of those celibate priests I have so admired in my life were maybe actual asexual (though I know that many of them were actually gay people who were forced to remain closeted because of the times in which they lived). Ultimately, I don’t suppose it matters too much. But personally it would’ve been helpful for me over the years to know of other asexual priests who experienced the same situations as I have. It always feels good knowing that someone has walked a path before me, though sometimes being the first to make the path is also an amazing feeling as well.

          So, this is who I am. I am a weird combo: a vegan, liberal, somewhat High Church Episcopal priest and poet, who is also Asexual. More than anything, I am a loved child of my God. I am a follower of Jesus, whom I follow as passionately as I can. And I grateful to God for making me into this strange, weird mixture, for bringing me to this point in my journey, for helping me to see me as I really am, and for allowing me to serve God and God’s people just as I am.  

          I sometimes don’t know how to end commentaries or sermons, so I usually close with a prayer. I found this wonderful prayer on Tumblr, and I think it gives voice to what many of us Ace people feel in our relationship with God:

 

Prayer for Asexuals and Aromantics

God of Love in Diverse Forms,

 You formed me differently from many others, and sometimes it is hard for me to accept that. When I try to be open about who I am, how I feel, and how I love, some people scoff in my face or even rebuke me for it. Help me pay them no mind, knowing that they can’t see into the human heart the way you can.

I want to grow into the person you made me to be, but sometimes I can’t help but feel lonely, isolated, or broken. Send me your Spirit in those times, Lord. Lend me your strength and courage, your wisdom and patience. Remind me of the words your Son Jesus spoke regarding people who do not marry, and which I may apply to my own asexuality/aromanticism:

“Some are born that way; some have been made that way by others; still others have made themselves that way for the sake of the kingdom from heaven. Let anyone accept this who can.” (Matthew 19:12)

 

My brother and savior Jesus Christ, you were like me while you lived on earth, focusing on other kinds of love than romance, on relationships based on things other than sex. When this world tries to convince me that sex and romance are necessary to being happy, help me see your Truth. If romantic love and/or sex are not for me, help me see how I can connect with people in countless other ways, cultivating friendships into deep, compassionate bonds that imitate your own gentle love.

Oh Holy Spirit, giver of diverse gifts, guide me into understanding how my orientation can be used to strengthen my relationship with you and with your creation. You have produced so many marvelous kinds of love, so many beautiful ways of connecting to others. No one way of experiencing life is universal, and yet, miraculously, we are all one in the Body of Christ. Let me celebrate myself as you made me, and let all Christians celebrate the wondrous diversity of your Church. All glory be to you.

Amen